<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>#SolavellanHellArtChallenge2020 - Staff by fenkyuubi</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989165">#SolavellanHellArtChallenge2020 - Staff</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenkyuubi/pseuds/fenkyuubi'>fenkyuubi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>#SolavellanHellArtChallenge2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comedy, F/M, Funny, Lavellan/Solas Fluff (Dragon Age), Skyhold (Dragon Age), Solas Fluff Friday, Solas is Fen'Harel (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:33:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenkyuubi/pseuds/fenkyuubi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>#SolavellanHellArtChallenge2020 - Staff</p><p>Varric wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel/Female Lavellan, Lavellan &amp; Solas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>#SolavellanHellArtChallenge2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>#SolavellanHellArtChallenge2020 - Staff</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had so much fun with this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Varric wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. </p><p>He watched as Seeker Pentaghast pressed her ear to the door of the armory, her hands splayed on either side of her head. In the dark, Varric thought she resembled the petrified Gurgut he saw at Kirkwall’s museum—not that he would ever tell her so.</p><p>The din from the neighboring tavern erupted in a crescendo of drunken laughter. Iron Bull’s brassy rendition of ‘Shred of Blue’ covered the rasp of his footsteps as he approached.<br/><br/>“Erm, Seeker?” he murmured as he inched forward. “Did you drop someth—”  </p><p>“Hush, Varric.” Cassandra fanned the dwarf back with the flap of her wrist. She re-positioned her head after fixing him with a firm glower. “I’m investigating.”<br/><br/>Beyond the heavy-set doors, there was the telltale screech of chair-on-stone, followed by muted laughter. </p><p>“Your definition of investigating is very close to what I'd call eavesdropping,” he said, earning him another fierce look. </p><p>Varric took a moment to review the situation and eyed the warrior with renewed interest. He examined her rumpled hair and the keen blush that blurred the scar on her cheek. He watched her legs, usually so strong and sure, cobble together at the knees as she struggled to maintain a crouch. </p><p>“Are you drunk, Seeker?”</p><p>“Shuddap, Varric!” Her slur was pronounced. </p><p>“Andraste’s Teeth. Let me get a pen and paper—Seeker Pentaghast drunk in the year of our Savior, 9:42.” </p><p>Not that Varric was in any state to judge. The Inquisition was out in full force tonight, the Kirkwaller included. It was refreshing to see that even the right-honorable Nevarran wasn’t immune to the allure of wine and good music. </p><p>The floorboards of the armory creaked, complemented by the sound of rustling fabric. Before he knew it, Varric had hobbled closer to the door. Cassandra made room for him. </p><p>The Inquisitor’s jaunty laugh was unmistakable, as was the drunken falsetto of her voice, which quivered and quaked in her recognizable Dalish lilt.<br/><br/>“Let’s try again.” Solas’ voice rumbled with the remnants of a chuckle. </p><p>“I don’t think I’m any good at this.”<br/><br/>“That is why we’re here. Come—hold it firmly. Like this.”<br/><br/>Cassandra’s snort was everything Varric hoped it would be. He didn’t need to look up to know the Seeker’s blush had spread to the tips of her ears. Despite the imprudence of it all, Varric found himself utterly transfixed.<br/><br/>Solas intimated his approval with a low grunt. “Better.”</p><p>“Are you certain my grip is meant to be this tight?”</p><p>“I’ve handled one all my life. Believe me when I say, I’ve had plenty of practice.”</p><p>The floorboards groaned, their breathless tittering continued.</p><p>“Familiarize yourself with it—its weight, its balance. The shaft is yours to command.”<br/><br/><em> Well, that’s a picture I ain’t getting out of my head any time soon. </em> Varric tapped the Seeker on the shoulder. She didn’t move, though she spared him a glance. Her eyes were wide, excited, and enlivened by boundless fascination. It was a look that validated all his opinions of the Chantry, and why sex in religious sects should be unequivocally allowed.<br/><br/>“Seeker, this is fun and all, but I’m sure this kind’a thing is illegal, let alone immoral. We should probably go.”<br/><br/>“Shush!”</p><p>The clatter of broken glass washed over the sound of Varric’s gentle protest. Over the clamor, he heard the Inquisitor gasp. Solas gave a low whine. </p><p>“Are you alright? Did I break it?”<br/><br/>“I’m fine—it’s fine. It’s sturdier than it looks.” The elf’s voice was strained, gurgled from the back of this throat. “Just stop moving it around so violently.”<br/><br/>“It’s bigger than I’m used to.” Embarrassment laced her words.<br/><br/>“I have no doubt. Dalish builds are smaller. Most would be encumbered by the weight.”<br/><br/>As Cassandra breathed a happy sigh, a shadow crawled between them, blocking the light from the tavern from view. </p><p>“What in the Maker’s name are you doing?” Cullen mumbled as he lumbered towards them, his fur coat cradled under his arm. Though the Commander lacked both overalls and shoes, he carried himself with an air of authority—one that should be beyond the sensibilities of a man who had only recently lost his clothes in a game of Wicked Grace. </p><p>Varric and Cassandra gestured for silence. </p><p>It wasn’t long before Varric’s felt the feathered collar of Cullen’s coat fold into his neck. </p><p>“Grip it—yes, like that. Now glide your palms across it. There should be friction, but not too much. If you’re going to make anything happen, you need to ensure you maintain constant pressure, while also giving your fingers room to move across the surface.”<br/><br/>“It’s heavy and taxing on the wrist. I’m not sure I can manage this for long periods of time.”</p><p>“If you have any talent, you won’t have to.”<br/><br/>Cullen inhaled sharply. When he sighed, the acrid smell of ale and whiskey pooled between them. “I am not hearing this. I am <em> not </em>hearing this.”</p><p>“Quiet, Curly. You’ll give the game away.”<br/><br/>“Please, Cullen. Let him at least <em> finish</em>.”<br/><br/>The Commander grumbled and swayed before tripping over the Seeker’s folded legs. She faltered, and grasped the handle of the door to keep herself from falling.</p><p>When the door flew open, the three of them landed in a jumble of hands, feet, arms, and spilt ale across the armory floor.<br/><br/>Evelyn and Solas stared down at them, surprise riddled across their features as they watched the writhing mass of people labor to their feet. The Inquisitor clutched the large metal staff to her chest. She was the first to speak. </p><p>“Andraste’s tit, what the fuck are you doing?”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>